Neon Genesis Evangelion: Recquiesçat In Pace
by R334
Summary: An assassin mows his way through NERV's ranks, shedding blood and dropping corpses everywhere he goes. His is known as the Soultaker. Technically on hold if not cancelled for concept problems.
1. Chapter 01 Prologue: Return To Me Salvat

**Neon Genesis Evangelion: Requiescat In Pace**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 01 (Prologue)**

**v.01: 01/23/2005**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Neon Genesis Evangelion anime and manga series are the intellectual and material property of Gainax Studios, ADVision, Inc., Shonen Ace magazine, Hideaki Anno and Yoshiyuki Sadamoto. All rights reserved. The 'NGE: Requiescat In Pace' is a purely fictional series based upon the original NGE and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it. All themes, polemics and ideas given throughout the chapters are not to be considered as the author's opinion of society, politics, world events, miscellaneous facts and other sensible matters but rather a well-meant attempt to add more to the NGE universe by adding new layers of reality and giving an impression of what modern life and historical could be in a post-Second Impact world. The author did not mean to shock or hurt anyone and denies any attempt to discriminate, scorn or insult any potentially offended readers and would like to retain a neutral status in every matter raised throughout the series. All comments are not subjected to the author's opinions but rather his vision of how the NGE universe could be and react to certain events - especially from the characters' point of view. The rating is dubbed 'Restricted' (R) just in case any eventually shocking or disturbing element, remark or subject would show up in the later chapters.

* * *

**Chapter 01 (Prologue): _Return To Me Salvation_ / _Without Hope_**

_**Do not fear the darkness, but fear what hunts in the darkness.**_

**U.S. Army motto about night operations**

* * *

He was going to die and he knew it.

His tired legs dragged him as far and fast as he could but even the distance they put between him and his doom could not stop the trickling sensation that spread throughout his spine. Death was at hand and he recognized it for what it was.

In his line of duty he had never taken the life of a fellow being but he had seen others die before his very eyes. Some of those unfortunate individuals had even been friends, dead for the values and beliefs they had fought for and finally fallen for. He had even held their hands as they passed beyond that line that was the frontier between life and death, and felt as they grew cold and finally gave a last sigh as their body spasmed a last time. Years of witnessing the horrors of life and the frailty of humans had somewhat hardened him, and given him a cold mask, like a mantle that would protect him from the ordeals of reality and hide the pain underneath. He had come to look upon those tests of strength with a certain degree of detachment, as his first experience with the passing of a beloved one or a close friend had freed him from a certain weight. Once you saw death, you grew accustomed to it. Even saluted it from afar, like an acquaintance that you didn't really know but acknowledged nonetheless for the role it had in your existence.

For some, it was a form of salvation.

For others, pure damnation.

And tonight, it was his turn to leave this world.

He already felt the cold inside him, but he knew that it was a mere effect of his own fevered imagination, worsened by the weather and his own fear. Ropes of water fell all around him, drenching him even through his coat. He was completely soaked and he was shivering in cold. His shoes were even full of water. Droplets splashed in every direction as he stumbled forward, trying to escape his destiny. Like a curtain of sorts, the rain blurred everything around him, imparting the surroundings with a ghostly look. The low amount of light even made the situation worse for him as he tried to get his bearings and find a path of escape. He stopped in his tracks, and flung himself in a dark corner, between a wall and some garbage cans, falling to his knees to reduce his profile and get out of view. He knew he didn't have much time. He had lost his pistol in the firefight and didn't have the leisure to snatch it up from the ground. He had to run away as fast as possible.

He wildly looked around him, trying to pierce the growing darkness but saw nothing. As his eyes darted behind him he saw a dead end. Knowing that he could stay long in his makeshift shelter and hideout, he got back to his feet and started to run again, panting hard. Images flew before his eyes. It was said that once you were near death memories came back to you, as if trying to make you decide whether you had lived a good life or not. Like a last judgment, of which _you _were the jury. The sentence and the executor were always the same. Then came the regret, laced with fear and a tinge of resignation, woven around all those feelings like a binding rope.

_Why me, why today, why here?_ were the thoughts that flew through his head. He ran wildly through a darkened alley, trying to find somewhere where he could hide, anywhere, as long as it could protect him from his incoming Grim Reaper. He kicked wooden crates out of his path, sometimes leaping over them, or just stepping over them. He could not afford to lose time. He had already so few of it, he didn't want to shorten his already limited stock.

_Why did it have to be me to go on this fucking mission? WHY?_ he screamed inwardly. He sniffed, trying to hold back the sob of desperation that came from his throat. Panic was sweeping over him like a tsunami, destroying every part of self-control and confidence he had in his soul. He knew what he had been asked to do and what were the risks involved. His superior had clearly given him warnings about what was at hand. He knew what would happen should he have bad luck that night.

And, Good Lord, did he have.

_It's always to me that such things happen. ALWAYS!_ He wiped rainwater out of his face, trying to get it out of his tired eyes and stopped again. He turned away, watching his surroundings. Apart from the thunder over head and the constant crackle of raindrops falling on the soaked ground he could hear nothing. In a way, it relieved him. In another, it scared him senseless for it would mask the arrival of his pursuer. His whipped around at this very thought, expecting his demon to come out from anywhere. None in his section who had the misfortune to meet him had survived. And tonight was his turn.

His desperate gaze fell on an abandoned warehouse, one of the many that surrounded the city's outskirts. This district had been deserted for many years since Second Impact, as companies and corporations had decided to relocate at safer areas, closer to the economical sources of the country. Many things had changed since the worldwide tragedy and its scars were countless. Destruction and death were chiseled everywhere in the face of the planet and one could not wander around without seeing at least one reminder of the disaster, be it a ruin or the remnants of a buildings brought down by the assaults of Fate. The building seemed to be empty. He saw no other area around him that could provide him protection so he decided that he could do with it, for the time being. He dashed forward, slipping on the dampened stone, nearly tripping in puddles of muddy water and slipping on loose pavements. He reached the side of the construction and immediately spotted a rusty door, half-closed. He rushed to it and pressed his elbow to the surface, bringing it open itself. He stumbled inside and jammed the door back to its closed position, allowing himself to rest his back on the metallic pane and slump, allowing his legs to finally rest on the floor. He took a deep breath and sighed. He was out of danger. For now. If his mobile phone worked, he could maybe call for reinforcements or a team to take him away from this hell-hole. He frantically searched inside his dripping coat and fished out the item. He flipped it open with a flick of the finger and crushed the activation button.

The loading picture appeared on the multicolor screen, providing him with a very small amount of light in this darkened area. The overhead ceiling was falling into pieces. Years ago there had been glass panes overhead, that allowed the sunrays to bathe the inside of the building but Time had overcome their solidity. The glass was mainly gone and the ground was littered with little pointy shards of what had been those windows. Rain fell in like small waterfalls, the small noises it made echoing sinisterly in the hangar. He waited ten second then shook his head. It was taking too long. Way too long.

He got up to his feet and went as near he could to the center of the warehouse, trying to catch a communication network. Damn it! Why did NERV opt for commercial, off-the-shelf cell phones instead of military, encrypted models? Answer: too high profile. True intelligence agents never went around with high-tech systems, but with civilian ones, so that they wouldn't attract attention. _Damn it. Damn it! DAMN IT TO HELL!_ he raged.

"Come on, come on!" he moaned to himself, fear coming back to tingle his senses. The screen was still blank, displaying three flashing words:

SEARCHING FOR NETWORK

_Oh shit. Okay, say that again: oh fucking shit!_

He was in the outskirts. Nobody went there anymore so the communication companies did not bother to install wireless telephone antennas in the vicinity, as they considered it would be a stupid loss of money. One that would cost him his life. _Fucking, bloody, freaky shit of a day!_ He snapped his cell phone shut and looked around him. He saw wooden and carton boxes ten meters away and made for them. Maybe he could hide inside or behind them so that...

_Damn it. Why aren't we all equipped with subdermal chips like the higher-ups do? At least we didn't have to fall back on worthless pieces of shit like that cell phone. Too bad it wasn't a satellite phone..._ He crawled behind them and brought his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible. _I will survive, I will survive, I will survive, _he chanted to himself, not even noticing the irony in his mantra. It should have been funny that it sounded like that old song that many soccer players sang during matches but his mind was too frightened to take note of it. He was too worried about his impending death to take care of such trivialities. Once again, he cursed NERV. Why did he have to be the one to tail those individuals? Surely his superiors knew that they were accompanied not only by bodyguards but also professional killers if not mercenaries directly drafted from the JSSDF or the United Nations Quick Reaction Force, right? He was not a rookie. He knew what he would be looking for. He knew what they could do. He knew that they could find him out, no matter how subtle his hideout was.

And, Good Lord, did they find him.

It was not some small caliber shots that had gone in his directions but a constant, deadly stream of bullets. Military grade weapons. That alone showed the importance of those businessmen. Low-rank people had small and lightly armed guards. The top tier personnel were followed by entire security squads that were hard not to notice but intelligent enough not to raise attention. And in his business, getting noticed was a synonym of death. Only those that could pass by like ghosts without being ratted out survived.

_Now, they were hot on his trail. I hope they won't use dogs to find me._

_No, not with that rain. It would mess the scent trail._

_Crack._

His head snapped up while his entire figure froze, his shaking even subsiding. _What was that?_ His whole body tensed up as he sensed the now familiar feeling of fear take his whole being over. If he didn't knew better about physics and the laws that ruled over this realm of existence he would have believed that time had come to a crawl, as seconds stretched by, distorted by the excitement that overcame his mind. His ears strained to pierce the drumming of the falling raindrops but once again the acoustics of the warehouse failed him - the very low hum of the resonance wiping out other muffled sounds that were either absorbed by the gravel beneath him or drown out in the sound background. He could feel the hair on his neck standing as his capillary muscles contracted, because of his nervous state. The wind howled madly outside, adding more tension to the already heavy atmosphere.

_Damn it, what the hell was that?_ he once again thought. _Was it Him?_ The agent held his breath, not daring to make a single sound or to move by a mere inch. Huddled in the darkness, his figure was nearly invisible, but he would not stand a chance in matters of concealment when it came to professional trackers and killers. His blood pounded against his eardrums and sweat gathered on his spasm-riddled forehead. His whole face was crunched in a mighty grimace that reflected his growing terror. He felt so cold...

He slowly moved his right hand, millimeter by millimeter, towards his right, so that he could shift all of his weight on it. Slowly, but surely, with utmost care, he started to lean against the side of the crate, keeping his back pressed against the rugged surface, somehow taking in how little feeling of safety he could find by touching it. His torso inched towards the corner of the box, and he moved his head closer to the edge, for a cautious peek. He had to be careful. One sound, one wrong movement and all his world would come crashing down with a full-metal jacket round. In front of him, the shadows danced, the eerie shapes moving over the walls, ever changing and disappearing to return seconds later in a never-constant ballet.

_Crick._

_There! Again!_ His heart missed a beat.

He was going crazy and he knew it. The place had been deserted for years and had been falling in pieces ever since. With the weather beating at it like a maddened animal, it should be normal that he would hear strange sounds like this, he thought to himself, trying - without much result, however - to find solace in that rather shaky statement. Paranoia was winning him over. Death would come after. _I'm already dead cold. Dead._

Dear God, no. No.

_It's just the warehouse creaking. Just the whole bloody building. Come on!_ he raged at himself. _You can do it, you can do it._

His head leant back to his right, towards the corner. Just three inches, and then the moment of truth.

Three. It's not that much.

A finger's length, really.

He went back to moving, daring not to creep too fast. Human eyes were drawn to movement. _This is not the moment to make a mistake. Not. Now._

As his temple went to rest on the crate's side and he turned his head to look over the corner, his eye caught something. On the floor.

S. H. I. T.

In front of him, not even two meters away from his hunched form laid an unmoving shadow. A human shadow.

His eyes widened just as his last bit of self-control departed from his terrified soul. His breath caught, preventing him from gasping out loud, stifling the sound deep in his throat before even the vocal chords had a chance to vibrate. He could even swear that his heart, his second most vital organ, had stopped beating, just as his first, the brains, froze over in horror. A single sentence rolled in his head, a reminder of his failure and his incoming doom.

_He's here._

Slowly, but surely, eyes wide and forehead glistening with shed sweat, his gaze tore from the ground and went upwards, to finally rest upon the lone figure that stood not even three meters away, looking directly at him, even if he could see the head of the hidden agent only, not the rest. That was, though, enough to guarantee him a death warrant.

"No need to scream. Nobody's here to hear you."

His jaw opened in disbelief as he realized that his deepest fear had indeed come true. _He_ was there, the one that had taken his friends and colleagues away. The professional killer that had been mowing down the ranks of the intelligence officers assigned to spy on SEELE. And He was there for him.

The agent detached himself from the crate, and turned towards the man, as he fearfully took a backwards step. Slowly recoiling from his harbinger of death. Dressed in black and night operation combat fatigues, he was the epitome of cold professionalism. He was very slender but not as tall as some touted Him to be, not even one meter seventy in height yet he knew that the darkness in the building somewhat distorted his perception. His fevered mind was another damning factor. He stumbled back, trying desperately to put as much distance between him and the killer, who noted this effort with an amused grin. His pearly white teeth eerily shone in the dark, like an evil beacon. The agent could not see his opponent's eyes very clearly, but they were glittering in glee.

"No need to escape either. There's nowhere to run to."

His gloved hand went to his hip and closed around the wood-plated grip of a modified Para Ordnance P14-45. A high-capacity Colt M1911 clone that had the reputation of being so efficient and precise that it was commonly used in shooting competitions. The man took the silenced weapon out of its holster and leveled it at its target's head. A little red light lit on under the barrel and a small red point appeared on the agent's soaked forehead.

"No last words? No epitaph for the tombstone?"

The man didn't answer, frozen in shock and horror.

"Too bad."

The weapon bucked in the killer's arm just as a .45ACP jacketed hollow point round came blasting out of the barrel, crashing its way inside the agent's head point-blank. His occipital and frontal bone exploded in a mass of gore, covering the wall behind him with small bits of gray matter and blood, filled with chunks of dark hair. The body slumped downwards without a single sound.

The killer didn't even blink as the life was taken away from his prey. Instead, he merely smirked, as if reflecting on one's futility. He holstered his pistol - not before compulsively checking that the safety catch was set on and the hammer was removed from its cocked position - and turned back to the entrance of the warehouse, where two people waited for him. Clad in black and long smocks, both of them had somewhat the look of the gangsters seen in those 1930's movies, if it weren't for the absence of the ever-present Panama hats. The coats were just used for concealing heavy weapons. He knew that beneath the clothes hung either a short-barreled shotgun or a folding stock-equipped rifle. Enormous firepower for extreme efficiency. After all, the Americans had learnt through Vietnam that massive firepower had sometimes more effect than single, long-range precision shots. Knowledge like that died hard.

"So you got him. Cheers," said one of the two, with a grim smile.

"NERV's getting more and more brazen. The ones high up should make their moves right now or next thing we know, these blokes like this one will be prancing in the open in front of us next time there will be a meeting," commented the other with a sigh. He went up to the corpse and examined him. "No chips. Low-ranked dude. No identification papers, one cell phone, keys...three credit cards - one from NERV, one from Visa and one from Sumitomo Bank United. Ah! One entrance card with a magnetic strip and a microchip. No radio transmitter...strange. Maybe GPS beacons or miniaturized infrared strobes in his clothes but we'll see that later" he concluded, standing up and putting the items in a metallic bag, specially designed to block radio and infrared waves. If there was a transmitter inside the objects, they wouldn't be able to transmit back because of the fabric.

"Then we'll do better: remove all of his clothes then the hands, the teeth and the eyeballs" the killer ordered. "Then dump the body somewhere in the nearby lakes with some weights on his legs. No need to leave his body for all to see. NERV will figure the message out even if there's no corpse to find and bury afterwards."

"As usual, as usual" replied the first accomplice as he eyed the body, steeling himself for the gory job. He had more familiarity with human anatomy than most others because of his role inside the cell. He was a cleaner, an individual tasked with removing a crime scene ('operation scene' for them since they surprisingly were reluctant to use such a pejorative term for their...art) from any evidence or clues that might lead back to them. It sometimes implied burning the whole place down, but such a thing was considered lacking subtlety if not a dead giveaway so they went for the hard way, doing the job with tweezers, acidic water and brushes. But the worst was neither wiping out blood stains nor getting rid of little bits of bone but the act known as 'skinning and disposing': getting rid of all body parts that could be used as identification means. The fingerprints. The irises. The dental molds. And most of the time they had to do it either with a cutter or a simple combat Bowie knife. A very nasty job.

"SSDD: Same Shit, Different Day."

"Exactly" the assassin agreed. _Even though one day we'll be saying ACAD: Another Corpse, Another Day._ "And when you're done with him, swing back at you-know-where. Our bosses will be pretty miffed up that one of NERV's guys tried to join the debate unannounced and uninvited so you know what to expect."

"Yes, sir" both of them replied, already foreseeing long hours of work to cover up the mess the shootout had caused. Police would most likely be swarming up the place in a few seconds and it would not take long until they went to search this area. So they immediately went to work, both of them tearing knifes away from their sheaths and bending down to finish up their task the soonest possible.

The man stepped outside, his eyes looking defiantly at the sky, as if daring them to comment on his crimes. He had killed more men than he could ever remember, the count ending when he didn't feel anything anymore during the executions. Humanity was no more but a detail. Survival and success were of the essence in his job. He had been raised that way and those lessons were deeply and still freshly written in his mind. It seemed as if it were yesterday that that man had come to make a deal with him, promising him revenge as long as he worked for them. He had not hesitated. He had agreed to the terms and undergone months, no, years of training for that purpose. His life's ultimate goal.

As he took a step in the rainfall, he let a wry grin pass through his otherwise cold, frozen features. His dead eyes never showed anything except for when he killed. Especially minions of that organization called NERV. He had a particular reason to hate them. They were the reason why his life had become a living hell.

And they would pay.

They would pay _dearly_.

For everything: the pain, the sorrow, all the suffering he had endured all these years. A past lost to utter damnation, to pure Hell. Time he could not get back and wounds he could not mend. Ordeals he could never forget. A drama he could never forgive. A ruined life he could not fix back.

His jaw clenched tight in an unfamiliar display of emotion, showing how deep his loathing of the almighty division of the United Nations went in his soul. Scars like his never healed. They stayed open, reminding him of the justice never bestowed, of the deaths never avenged and the crimes never punished.

He was there to put an end to all this and he would not stop killing until justice was done.

And satisfy his own hatred.

The Soultaker was once again on the warpath.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_

**

* * *

**

**An author's note:**

For those who might have taken the trouble to skim through my profile the last few weeks might have observed, between a couple rants about inability to totally retransmit a document in its original style, a mention about a series named 'Recquiesçat In Pace'. For those who do not know it, it comes from Latin and means 'Rest In Peace' and is usually found on tombstones. I originally had another quote as main idea for the title - this one coming from Caesar's famous last words before his assassination - but...well, I won't delve any deeper in my musings. You don't need to know it for some reasons.  
Anyway, I said that 'RIP' wouldn't be uploaded until some time. I...lied, for lack of a better term. I didn't say the exact truth. In fact, the prologue, here, was completed a while ago, but the two following chapters still aren't since my attention has been drawn tomy other series, 'The Beast Inside'. I'm just going to post the first chapter of this new series here, wait for a while, read the reviews and then complete at least four or five chapters of the 'RIP' story before posting chapter two. I'm sorry about this unusual way of dealing with it, but things turned out quite complicated in the last few months. Those who have read my profile should know why. There is also the fact that chapter one was less easy to write than the prologue, which was finished in less than one hour, my new record. Anyway, I hope chapter two will be uploaded in less than two months, if not sooner, if I ever find enough free time to jot down what I think I'm going to do about this series. Mind you, 'RIP' will be a little bit more...gory? than 'TBI' because it deals with human beings and not Angels, but who knows? I do plan to put some Angel attacks in but...well, I'll see how it will turn out. In the meantime...

Thank you for reading and, until the next time,

Goodbye.

**ABI 2301**


	2. Chapter 02: Old Nightmares Coming Back T...

**Neon Genesis Evangelion: Requiescat In Pace**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 02**

**v.01: 02/25/2005**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Neon Genesis Evangelion anime and manga series are the intellectual and material property of Gainax Studios, ADVision, Inc., Shonen Ace magazine, Hideaki Anno and Yoshiyuki Sadamoto. All rights reserved. The 'NGE: Requiescat In Pace' is a purely fictional series based upon the original NGE and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it. All themes, polemics and ideas given throughout the chapters are not to be considered as the author's opinion of society, politics, world events, miscellaneous facts and other sensible matters but rather a well-meant attempt to add more to the NGE universe by adding new layers of reality and giving an impression of what modern life and historical could be in a post-Second Impact world. The author did not mean to shock or hurt anyone and denies any attempt to discriminate, scorn or insult any potentially offended readers and would like to retain a neutral status in every matter raised throughout the series. All comments are not subjected to the author's opinions but rather his vision of how the NGE universe could be and react to certain events - especially from the characters' point of view. The rating is dubbed 'Restricted' (R) just in case any eventually shocking or disturbing element, remark or subject would show up in the later chapters.

* * *

**Chapter 02: _Old Nightmares Coming Back To Life_ / _Death Is But A Crossroads In Life_**

_A single death is a tragedy anda million deaths is nothing but a statistic._

**Iosef Vissarionovich DJOUGATCHVILI, also known as I. V. STALIN**

_If you've got a nice fresh corpse, fetch him out!_

**Mark TWAIN, _The Innocents Abroad_ (1869) ch. 27**

* * *

"They are getting quite fishy, aren't they, Ikari?"

In the MH53 Stallion helicopter that flew over the mighty metropolis that was Tokyo-03, two prominent figures of power held a conversation of the utmost urgency. The aircraft, in fact, was one of the rare places where the two could speak in complete secrecy as thousands of dollars had been spent to modify the passenger bay with an acoustic dampening shroud, that made it impossible for an outside intelligence outpost to spy on them with hidden microphones. Even the latest laser systems that could recreate speeches just by analyzing the vibration patterns of nearby windows were unable to work on the MH53. Even the five-man crew was checked for their loyalty and all five were greatly paid not only to not pay attention to what the NERV's Sub-Commander and the Supreme Commander were speaking of but also to keep quiet on what they might have heard. Needless to say, every two weeks, they had go through a checkup session with the Security Division, most known as Section Two, and talk in front of a lie detector. Should any quirk in the oscilloscope be found about their keeping secrets secret, they would most probably be facing a heavy-caliber gun thrust into their face. No risks should be taken when world balance was threatened.

"It's been the fourth time they're attending meetings. Bodily, no less" concurred the bearded and bespectacled scientists, once again hiding his mouth behind joined hands.

"It's indeed strange that they would agree to meet in person rather than use their holographic communication network, indeed. Most intriguing, I should say" answered Kozo Fuyutsuki, driving a hand through his gray hair.

"They are planning something. The sole fact that they are meeting in Japan and not somewhere else in Germany or in the United States clearly shows that. They would never take unnecessary risks."

"They indeed know that coming here means getting in our area of operations, thus in our guns' range" the old man pointed out.

"SEELE has been acting quite strangely, lately." Gendo Ikari traced his eye over the shining buildings of the new capital of Japan, like a king would behold his palace. He had the right of death and life over thousands if not millions of people and it seemed surreal, even to him, that the scales of fate could be tipped over by just a flick of a finger or a single order uttered to a strategic command officer. Being one of the world's most influent people did that to your mind. Megalomania and paranoia.

"And they will get more and more unpredictable, since another intelligence gathering operation has been botched yesterday night."

"Section Two is getting...lax, when it comes to keeping its original efficiency."

"Not to say downright incompetent. It's surprising how many million dollars we spend on signals and electronic intelligence equipment yet we have to count on solo-working individuals that are either not made for that job or show a lack of professionalism despite their so-called 'outstanding' capabilities" replied Fuyutsuki.

"Our agent did go with some equipment to tap in the local communications network and set some microphones around. But he got caught while he was installing them, before the old men even arrived at their meeting place. He had to abandon everything in his hideout even though it's no loss to us since he had recorded nothing useful. Anyway, we'll have to go deeper. I trust agent Ryoji is still with us, on our side?" he turned back to his subordinate, his glasses flashing.

"You're not thinking of sending _him_, are you? Ikari?" frowned the old professor at his former student.

"He's rather well acquainted with the old men and you know that he only cares for truth. His own past has secured his loyalty to us as long as we play with his interest of...secrets that need to be discovered. You know how spies like him are: they can't help from putting their nose in others' business if they can't help it. It becomes compulsive."

"Yet his loyalties are also to SEELE and the Japanese government. An infernal triangle, if you ask me."

"If he does find something that might interest him he'll shut up so that he can delve deeper in whatever he digs up for us. A predator doesn't loudly prance near his prey, Fuyutsuki. It stalks. Silently."

"Thank you for the zoology lesson, Ikari. I'm sure I could have found that on my own" replied the Vice-Commander dryly. "But I still don't approve of this line of action. Agent Ryoji has also shown quite a lot of unknowns in his behavior. He's a loose agent. Unpredictable. And I don't think...our...scenario needs that right now."

"With that rumor of a professional killer hunting down our men one by one, I think we should do something right now, don't you think so?"

The old Tokyo-02 professor raised a skeptical eyebrow as he recalled that rumor brought back by a well-placed intelligence agent placed inside SEELE's tier two personnel about a mercenary tasked with keeping the organization's secret safe from NERV and to kill down the U.N.-owned division's main assets. The man died not only two days after his report; his body was found nailed to a red cross in front of one of the Geofront's entrances. Around the corpse's neck was a knotted rope, like that used to lynch a man. The message was clear: Judases were not permitted to live after their betrayal. The cross was a hint directed only to the Vice- and Supreme Commander.

"You believe in _that?_ Do I need to remind you, Ikari, that nobody else has heard about such a thing? It's merely a joke. _Testis unus, testis nullus._ One witness: no witness."

Gendo Ikari chose not to reply.

He merely chose the argument to which no one could answer: silence.

-

A sniper was by no means an ordinary man. Physically and mentally, he was one that could easily stand out of a crowd and show how unique he was. For very few could ever become such a soldier and join the very select club that was the sniper community. Expert in concealment, he also was a specialist in ballistics for trying to hit a target one thousand yards away from you with a single round was no easy task. The way the projectile arced in the air was subjected to dozens of physics laws and an equal amount of factors like hygrometry, wind speed and direction, atmospheric pressure, thermal currents and heat stratification, altitude... The way all these settings interacted was no secret for those men who could kill from afar without fearing of being hit back. They usually did their job with great care, never using two rounds one a single target. The second the target was hit, they were gone from their hideout and off to a new assault position. A sniper not only was an offensive asset but also a great psychological warfare soldier. The effects a lone shooter had one a regiment that wasn't able to fire back were devastating as well as discouraging. They always went for the superiors, disrupting the chain of command and slowly instilling fear in the lower ranks, showing them how insecure they were against that type of warrior. Nobody was safe from them.

And nobody could be like them.

A sniper needed to have a great control over their hands and body, as the position of the rifle between the arms and the shoulders was critical in order to maximize the probability of killing. If the weapon's barrel were to deviate from a mere millimeter, the bullet would not find its mark but land a dozen meters away from the target, and jeopardize the whole mission by destroying the effect of surprise. Once the target was on its guard, it would disappear and the shooter would have to travel around to find it back, a strenuous, lengthy and delicate process. And, as if this qualification was not enough, other ones, as equally important, would make other candidates drop out of the initiation class. People with cardiac problems could never become such soldiers, for they needed to synchronize their heartbeat and respiration with their pulling on the trigger. The bullet should be shot between two beats, while inhaling. Those who had a weak heart would never be able to do that. Left-handed people were also out of question, as their manipulation of the telescope's variable lenses would give out their position. And those who didn't have good movement coordination were also shunned out of the competition.

Indeed, snipers were extraordinary, unique men.

And the Soultaker was one of them.

In his hands laid an enormous Barrett XM107, an improvement of the heavy-caliber U.S. Marine Corps' M82A1M with a equipment rail interface system, a revised bipod and optics. Developed in the 1990s as a response to new requirements from the military, the XM107 had the ability to kill a human being one mile away. With some luck and good ballistic conditions, that range could be brought up to two thousand meters, with a margin of two hundred more. Wedging the skeleton butt stock in the crook of his right shoulder, the killer brought his left hand back to rest on the stock, keeping it in place, close to his chest. He could not afford the rifle to be held loose, especially with the 'back-kick' it packed. He slowly detached his right hand from the grip and snatched up the edge of his gray-colored cloak, bringing it back over his head. This type of camouflage was called a 'ghillie suit' and had been created by Scottish hunters in the Middle Ages as a disguise to get near, unnoticed, to unsuspecting birds. This piece of cloth, today, was used to stalk on a different type of prey. It would conceal him from his enemy, keeping him out of sight until he would pull the trigger. He brought back his fingers on the grip and kept his index on the trigger guard, to prevent accidental firing. He would only set it on this piece of metal the moment he had his target in his scope's reticule.

His right thumb slowly rose, flipping out the safety catch. He was now locked and loaded, ready to kill.

His right eye was four inches away from the telescope, as the recoil would eventually drive the instrument's rear in his face should he keep his head too close. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the possibility. Now _that _was something that would never happen to him. Nothing with someone who knew his weapons better than anyone. After all, they were the tools of his trade, right?

His eyes scanned the landscape in front of him. Gifted with a 20/20 sight, he had, over the years, developed what he called the 'motion sight', which meant that he did not focus on a single, isolated point in the distance but examined a larger area around him, the amount of focused concentration set back on overall changes in the field in front of him. He would not see the details but he would detect the motions worthy of taking note. In a city, that was a most difficult task but in a forest where he had only one thing to locate, it would be child's play, should he be given time and the means to do it.

His sharpened ears suddenly picked up a low hum,which slowly turned into a hacking noise then a roar. He slowly turned his right on his right, trying not to move too abruptly for fear of being discovered. He was hiding in shadows, on top of a building, but that didn't mean that nobody could see him. In fact, he was hiding behind a small wall, of which he had removed six bricks, not only providing him with what he jokingly called a 'peeping hole' but also with a perfect hideout. As soon as his job was done he would put the bricks back into place, disassemble his rifle and exfiltrate before the police helicopters would have a chance to spot him from above. On top of that, should he notice in the area, his identity cover would dispel any suspicion aimed at him. No one would ever suspect him. No one. Not even the all-powerful and omniscient Section Two. Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw the modified MH53 Stallion swooping down towards the landing pad, two kilometers away.

Weather conditions were perfect. Almost no wind, clear sky andlow air humidity: a perfect way to begin a sniper's day.

The wheels of the aircraft finally touched down and technicians ran down the concrete pad to put weights around them, locking the Stallion into place. The rotor blades soon stopped swishing around and a door opened on the left side of the helicopter. Two men got out and went down the little folding staircase, before finally setting foot on the ground. Another man - a U.N. officer, this time, went to meet them, stopping in front of the two aged individuals and saluting them.

The finger of the Soultaker closed around the trigger, slowly pulling it back, as he changed his respiration pattern.

_Ta-thump._

_Ta-thump._

_Ta-thump._

He could hear his blood pounding on his eardrums. Now, he would have to make sure the trigger 'broke' between two beats so that everything would be perfect. Tighten the grip, apply poundage andkeep on breathing, deeply. Apply windage and correct the trajectory. All clear.

Gendo Ikari would get a pleasant message today.

_Ta-thump._

_Ta-_

As his right index pulled the trigger backwards, inside the lower receiver of the XM107, the hammer broke free and slammed forward on the rear end of the bolt. The firing pin was brutally pushed forward and entered in contact with the end of the .50-caliber round, setting the explosive propellant off. The 12.7mm-diameter projectile ripped itself off its casing and tore down the barrel, spinning right-handedly as it met the rifling. A stream of burning gasses and gray gunpowder smoke shot up from the muzzle break-equipped barrel, saluting the departure of a harbinger of death, accompanied by a thundering _boom _that did not escape the area towards the helicopter pad as the sound waves met the wall and rebounded off it. Bits of rock chipped from the wall and flew away, dragged by the sudden blast. An acrid smell soon drifted in the air. A spent 12.7x99mm casing fell from the ejection port, falling on the concrete floor with a metallic _tink_, the only noise that could be heard in the sudden silence. Fortunately for him, open spaces, like this roof, had the advantage to quickly absorb loud noises, unlike little rooms in which shots sounded little miniature explosions.

_-Thump._

_Ta-thump._

All done, all gone.

The Soultaker scrambled forward, setting the rifle carefully back on the ground before taking in his hands a couple of red bricks. With great haste, he set them back where they came from, noting with satisfaction that the glue inside would help them stick with the others, letting no trace of the modification. With luck, nobody would ever guess from where the shot originated. The large piece of wet cloth set under the bipod and over the hole's edges had absorbed the gunpowder residue, which meant that the roof wouldn't yield any microscopic bit of information for the forensics team-only traces of water that would soon evaporate under the sun's unforgiving glare. He snatched the item, rolled it and made a note to dispose of it in one of downtown's garbage cans. As soon as it was done, he went back to his weapon and slowly disassembled it, breaking it down to its major pieces: barrel, receiver, magazine well...before putting the items back inside a high-capacity trunk he would then heave towards the door, away from the scene. His job was done.

The Soultaker had struck again.

-

Gendo Ikari held his gloved hand over his glasses, trying to diminish the glare of the rising sun. Fortunately for them it wasn't midday and the impending heat that hour promised had not settled yet on the country, sparing them from that curse, courtesy from Second Impact. He walked down the staircase and finally stepped on the landing pad. He looked around for a few seconds, searching for his escort. He finally spotted him, a lanky man drafted from the U.N. Quick Reaction Force that sometimes acted as aide de camp for Section Three, the Geofront's internal security division. The colonel walked up to him and snapped straight, saluting him in the usual military fashion. Everybody knew that Gendo Ikari was a man that ordered respect and order around him and no one dared to cross him or even go against his wishes.

"Sir, reporting for duty!"

"Good morning, colonel" the Supreme Commander replied, pushing his glasses back higher on his nose, the gesture reflecting a calculating nature that swelled with despise and distrust. Behind him, Fuyutsuki acknowledged the officer with a nod and a small smile, the greeting obviously more cheerful and warm than the previous one despite the absence of words. "Escort us to the Geofront" he continued, not bothering to say a single 'kindly' or 'please' as his status dismissed him from such signs of politeness. Even so, it was highly unlikely that an individual like him that showed no respect for the others would even indulge himself in such a respectful behavior towards his peers or even his subordinates. That would be anticlimactic according to his persona.

"Yes, sir!" the colonel answered, half-turning away towards the waiting 4x4 that would bring the two men inside the subterranean complex, away from the threats of this insecure world. "If you would permit me to..."

He never finished his sentence as his head literally exploded in a shower of blood and brains, nearly ripped clean off the body. A loud _clang_ followed by some sparks followed the kill, as the bullet embedded itself in the helicopter's nose, tearing the metal apart. The colonel's body fell to the ground, red, viscous liquid spreading around and gathering in a growing puddle. Parts of the soldier's skull were scattered everywhere.

Gendo Ikari blinked.

He had small bits of bone and a little amount of blood smeared over his face and his jet-black suit was covered with a bit of gray matter and crimson fluids.

Behind him, Fuyutsuki froze in horror as he finally came to grips with reality, taking in the scene in front of him. Where seconds before a perfectly healthy, living being stood now laid a dead, maimed corpse. The violence of the change embedded itself in the two men's minds, with various degrees of effects. Around them, people were shouting and Section Two agents appeared. A siren started screaming overhead.

Gendo Ikari's eyes tore off the prone, dead form and settled themselves on the city, which shone in the morning light.

The middle-aged man's jaws tightened in raw anger and his lips parted to show grinding teeth. With great difficulty, the otherwise most powerful and protected man in the world uttered a single, hate-filled sentence. One that promised pure, unadulterated pain.

"Tell me who you are."

-

Far away from the horrors of life, a family was slowly rising from its slumber, or, at least, two of its members were as the third one was already wide awake.

Asuka Soryu Langley was not known as a morning person. The pain of leaving the plane of dreams and getting back to full reality was something she did never stood up as she relished in the comfort offered by her futon. Even though she would never admit it outright and in front of her teammates and surrogate family, she was rather delicate and easily threw up a tantrum against everything that would anger her or threaten her well-being, which she held as extremely vital in her heart, a result of her ruined childhood.

The constant beeping of her alarm clock was something she had come to curse on a daily basis, the only thing that rivaled its status of 'most-hated-thing' being the unfortunate individual known as Shinji Ikari. At least the apparatus had the decency not to compulsively say 'I'm sorry' when it woke her up. She at least found satisfaction in that fact, as the constant begging for forgiveness from the Third Child's part nearly drove her crazy. She could not stand people that did not stand for themselves, like her. She could not relate to him in that way and that was one of the many sources of animosity between them. Jealousy being another, when it came to attention and fame.

_Beep-beep-beep-beep-bee-_

A pillow smashed onto the offending object, effectively cutting it off, not because the piece of furniture had entered in contact with the 'snooze' button but because the impact had simply broken some components inside, rendering them completely useless and good for the garbage can.

"Bloody alarm clock...always at the best moment of my dream" she muttered, her face still embedded in her other pillow, her arms desperately clinging at her safe haven, her shelter from the difficulties of life. After turning and tossing around for a moment, she groaned in frustration as she found herself unable to fall back asleep, finally resigning herself to welcome a new day and face its lot of unpleasantness. She grumbled in German, sat up and began her lengthy task of pre-combing her hair, trying to undo the knots and mangles in it, made overnight. As soon as she was done she swung her legs over the border and on the ground, the cold surface jarring her from the last calls of slumber. "...Hope that worthless, perverted, good-for-nothing idiot has made breakfast or I'll break his kidneys..." she murmured to herself. She opened her door then held her nose high, sniffing the air. The wafts of hash browns, sausages and eggs, along with toast came to her nostrils, eventually confirming the fact that her roommate had at least had the decency to get up early and have to honor of preparing her first meal of the day. As it was Saturday, there was no need for urgency but she still needed to have her food in front of her when she wanted it to be, a lesson Shinji had learnt the hard way, earning the first days a few punches in the stomachs or finger flicks on his forehead. Luckily, those weren't permanent damages to his body. Let's face reality: Asuka Soryu Langley wouldn't break down the one thing that fed her and did her laundry, right? Such tasks and other chores were way beneath her and unworthy of her attention, even if her guardian's good-natured sense of equity (or at least the notion she had of it) forced her to partake in those aspects, those rituals of life. The art of taking care of oneself.

"It seems a good star has smiled upon you, Third Child," she announced as she entered the kitchen. "You've actually managed to cook breakfast before I..." she stopped abruptly as she saw that no one was in the room, save for the breakfast already set on the table, ready to be eaten, complete with a single note. She walked up to the table, snatched up the piece of paper and read out loud:

_"Gone for a walk-I'll be back in a couple hours. I need to get a thing or two out of my head. Breakfast is ready. Good appetite."_

She snorted in disdain and dropped in her usual chair. "'A thing or two out of my head'? He thinks he's got one? My, what a optimistic boy" she sneered, indulging herself with a couple of sausages and a buttered toast. Really, she reflected, what was it with him and his worries? How could someone be so cranked up by meaningless topics and ideas? She could understand the fact that piloting the Eva and facing the mighty monsters known as the Angels took their toll over his mind but this was completely ridiculous. Depression was seeping its way inside Shinji's soul and she knew the effect that psychological state could do to one's sanity. It was one fate she didn't wish one anyone, as she had gone through the ordeal more than once after her mother's suicide. With a vehement nod, she shooed those unhappy thoughts out of her head, trying not to begin the day with pessimistic and depressing musings. The last Angel fight had been bad enough. She would allow herself to mull over additional matters that would take her concentration off her piloting. She lived for Eva and nothing more. Not for the nightmares of the past. She brought her glass of orange juice to her lips and found herself drawn in the softness of the drink, as if it was a life-saver that had come to get her away from an unknown danger that threatened her well-being.

Her train of thoughts was brutally disrupted when she heard the first signs of Misato waking up: small moans that were the equivalent of a 'gimme a beer' muttered in half-consciousness. She rose from her chair with a resigned sigh, went up to the fridge and took out a Yebisu can, before heading towards the purple-haired guardian's room. She slid the door slightly open and bent to throw the object on the ground. The can rolled towards the futon, finally meeting Misato's hand, who clamped on it as if her life depended on it. _In a way, it did_, Asuka thought with a mental growl. _What a slob, really. Cannot hold a house properly, cannot cook, cannot spend an hour without drinking...she must be God's bane on men or Eva pilots._

Misato cracked the can open and gulped down its blond-colored content, allowing herself to let her 'morning whoop' loose. Asuka cringed; she had never got over that ridiculous habit of hers that went back to her university years. Even during her stay in Germany she had used to wake up the whole apartment complex with the holler of hers, nearly driving the other occupants mad. "...Thanks...Shinji...you're a...lifesaver..." she slurred, alcohol already getting to her brains and reaping her awareness away. Like always.

_I can't believe her. She ends and begins her day with a beer. She's truly addicted to it._

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not that pervert, Misato! How insulting!" she huffed.

The lump beneath the covers that was Misato shifted around for a moment, before the heavy-lidded face of NERV's Operations Commander came from under the sheets. "Hunh...? Not Shinji...? Well, that's a change...good for you Asuka...thanks anyway..." she murmured before going back to the place nicknamed 'la-la-land', ignoring the indignant answer from her redheaded, loudmouthed charge. She couldn't but confirm to herself the fact that she had been surprised. After Shinji had taken abode in her apartment, the task of cooking breakfast had naturally come to him, not only because the house chores chart had designated him as the house's chef, but also because his two other roommates had but very few notions of cooking...unless one would count chemical warfare as a way of cooking. Misato's meals had disgusted both of them to the point of near-trauma and had instilled them with the hard-engraved agreement that she would never be allowed to go back to the kitchen as a cook as long as they would be dubbed _living_ beings. Of course, the comment was not lost on its recipient but all three of them were actually relieved that she never had to set up those awful dinners of hers. Even Ritsuko Akagi (especially her as she had been one of her co-ed during university) knew that she was a complete disaster when it came to housekeeping. She even proposed to write an amendment to the Human Rights' Declaration pertaining to her not approaching a kitchen in order to prevent a genocide of biblical proportions.

_And today...Asuka was the first to get up...ring, holy bells, a miracle has befallen on us_...Misato thought in a half-daze. She didn't hear her redheaded charge leave her room in a huff then go back to the kitchen to enjoy her breakfast. _Seems rather strange...Shinji's always the one to get up first...ah, it's not that it's a bad thing for us...if it weren't for my eardrums...Asuka waking up before Shinji has the chance to cook breakfast can be hard on one's ears, after all...'tis true 'tis sad, and 'tis sad 'tis true._

Ten meters away, a German bomb was silently exploding, sending expletives to the world around her. _Always him and never me! Why do they always have to pamper him like he's going to break apart in a couple seconds, it's not as if...okay, okay...scratch that...he's able to pull that thing on us...true, he's a weakling, after all...a good-for-nothing, one that cannot stand for himself...unworthy. Arrgh! Why can't he be a man for a change, even if it is only for a second? I can't believe him, that bloody...peeping jerk!_

With that, she went back to the table and prepared for the day.

Which would be very long once NERV news reached her ears.

-

Two kilometers away, the individual that was previously the object of two women's thoughts dropped an empty Coke bottle in a garbage can, mulling over his life's last events. Shinji Ikari, like many others, had not been one gifted with a happy childhood and had sincerely every reason to complain about it even though he always kept the pain to himself and chose other ways to prevent the pain by, for example, running away. Abandoned by his father at age of four on a railway station, he had had to live with a tutor whose caring about his charge remained to be desired. His uncle and aunt shared the same feelings with his guardians, as their nephew was nothing more for them than another mouth to feed. Little did Shinji know that Gendo Ikari had discussed their line of behavior towards his son and that scheming was the source of all the unhappiness he had had to endure all those years ago. Of course, due to his youth, he did not perceive the calculated stances his relatives were taking towards him and mistook it for simple lack of care.

He was the third wheel, the one that filled the gaps but wasn't that really important.

From this sprung his own self-loathing, as he really believed he wasn't worth caring for. He never developed confidence.

And now he had to fight Angels.

He fished in his pocket and found the item he was looking for-a pack of cigarettes. He never smoked, as he believed that it would ruin his lungs should he become addicted to it. Those cancer sticks, as he came to nickname them, diminished the amount of oxygen in the bloodstream and thus reduced brain activity. No wonder why some people became so used to them-it took their mind off their own worries. His education and knowledge of biology had kept him out of this man's bane but there were times where he seriously thought about adopting that way of life. Ifitmanaged to get to lessen his depression, then so be it. Touji had given him a Marlboro pack as a 'man-to-man' gift, telling him that it was one of the many things that would make him a man. The Third Child shook his head as he thought about his friends' antics; his phantasms about virility and adulthood were sometimes very peculiar and he wasn't sure it would help him in that matter. Should he? Should he not? He fingered the box in his hand, turning it over. He flicked the lid open then slowly got one cigarette out, sensing it with the tip of his fingers. So soft, so fragile, easily crushed...just like him.

The object looked so inviting...he saw the oblivion swirling through its length and calling to him. He just had to bring it to his lips and light it...and the step would be done.

But once again, he relented. Just like the other times.

Section Two was looking at him right now and he knew it. A surveillance team was dispatched to keep an eye on him, along with a protective detail that took care to stay in the shadows, not even noticed by those they were assigned to protect. They would only go out in the open in case of need, like an attack or an accident. His mere doings would then be written down on a sheet of paper and forwarded either to the Commander's office for acknowledged or directly to his guardian, Misato. She was entitled to his physical and mental well-being so she would doubtlessly be informed of that development and the risks underlying.

He dropped the pack in his pocket and went on his stroll around Tokyo-03's central park, a sort of haven built in the center of the fortress as an attempt to give the denizens an illusion of peace and paradise. That 'green area' as the municipalities called them, were also meant to replenish the city with oxygen, as fuel consumption was exceptionally high on certain periods of the year and carbon dioxide along with the other toxic gasses had to be stocked somewhere. That was where Nature itself entered in action. All around the city were gigantic biochemical blocks, which absorbed those gasses and traded them for fresh air and air fresheners, a technology that had its roots deep in the last decennia of the twentieth century, shortly before Second Impact. Those parks, here, were memories of times lost, of a happiness and carefree that would never return. And Shinji found there his paradise.

He found a bench and dropped on it, with a weary sigh. Why was life so hard?

He took in a deep breath and gazed at the blue, cloud-speckled sky, taking in the serenity that permeated the air. He was slipping into another depression and he knew it. He had to do something about it before it would swallow him up like a hungry monster from some Lovecraftian novel. A flock of birds taking off to his right made his head turn, snapping him from his reverie. His eyes, as they traced over the small pond near him, fell on a group of persons that lounged in the shadows, apparently oblivious to the world around them but in fact shooting him short glances. Section Two.

_No privacy at all. Did I really bargain a new life for that?_

He shook his head with resignation then got up, casting one last glance towards the group of agents dressed in casual clothes but doubtlessly sporting weapons underneath their shirts. One of them might even have an assault rifle or a pump-action Remington in the case beside them. Figures. What a bunch of unsubtle people, he thought wryly. Yet...the four individuals seemed quite nervous, as they kept looking around them every three or five seconds, as if awaiting something or someone. _What's it with them?_

-

"Are you sure? You're not shitting me, right?" asked one of the four, looking around him for any sign of danger.

"Why would I? I got the word loud and clear from Otomo, that bald guy from Section Three, fourth division, remember him? He was on duty at the eighth landing pad this morning. The 'Bastard' and the 'Geezer' were coming back from Tokyo-02" he replied, referring to the Supreme and Vice-Commander of NERV. "And after their chopper landed, this guy from the U.N. walks up to them and starts bringing them back to the SUV when whack! Head's gone. According to Otomo, it was a fucking mess."

"In front of the 'Bastard'? Really?" whistled the third individual, fingering the weapon tucked inside his belt. He kept his safety catch on yet he couldn't resist the temptation to snap it off, ready to snatch the pistol out and bring it to aim on the next bad guy that would come out. But he couldn't afford it to misfire and end up with a bullet in the genitals. His friends would never forget that...adding to the pain such an ordeal would provide him with. "That shooter, whoever he is, must really have some balls to do his job in front of NERV's top tier officers."

"Yeah, talk about it. I heard that division five - our own - is also in the shitter right now" the second added, tracing a finger over his earphones. The item looked like it belonged to a Walkman but was instead like to a radio transmitter, the microphone being strapped to the collar, near the throat, for discretion and transmission clarity. "They once again fucked up. I don't know what's happening right now, but word is that someone declared war on us and is taking a good time shooting heads. Ours, no less."

The fourth man, tagging behind, seemed a little nervous right now. He kept moving his hand near his elbow holster inside his jacket but tried to refrain from doing it without much effect. They didn't want to attract attention. It was already bad that Command had decided that their working attire would be a black suit that looked too much like that bad stereotype from espionage films and they didn't want to worsen it. They were off the hook, of course, as their job stated that they had to look _normal_ and not rouse suspicion either from their charges or the by passers. "The Third's looking at us."

"So he found us. Congrats" commented the first agent, taking a pull on his own cigarette. "Command's going to be peeved if they learn that a _child_ found out who we were."

"Say no more. We're already deep down in the shit right now with all that's happening, I don't want any more trouble, hear me?"

"I wasn't going to put that in the report, you know. My paycheck is pretty dear to me, especially when there are no cuts from Command."

"I knew we could have an understanding" replied the third dryly. "With all those budget cuts here and there, my paycheck envelope was getting quite slim these last months."

"You could always join the U.N."

"Bugger off, bum-face!" mock-scowled the third, showing the distaste NERV traditionally had towards its owner. "No way am I going to go back to those knuckle-dragging, paper-scribbling losers! I'd die first!"

"Be my guest."

"Enough. The Third's leaving" interrupted the first agent, rising from the bench he was sitting on. He took the equipment case and swung the sling over his shoulder, before starting towards the teenager. "Seems quite off, doesn't he?"

"Rumor is that he's familiar with a thing named...ah, depression. Yeah, that's the word."

"Should see a shrink, it would save us some early morning duty" the second replied. "Now _that_ is something constructive!" joked the third, eliciting smirks from his colleagues. They walked on, following the young pilot out of the park, up to the Ninety-fourth Street and the Twelfth Avenue. As most Saturday workers were already at work and the rest staying back at house to enjoy a rather peaceful weekend, few habitants could be seen outside, as they preferred to stay indoors and relax for a while, as the Japanese way of life often implied stress and overwork during the five other days of the week. Traffic was consequently very light and sometimes up to nonexistent, to the delight of the Section Two operatives, who saw the number of possible threats drop to a dozen, no more.

"Where's he going to?"

"Does it matter? He looks like he's getting something out of his system. If his state of mind's really bad then that should be normal - there's nothing like a long walk to forget some things."

"Since when did you become a shrink?"

"Since I had to put up with you."

"Why you..."

"Quiet, children" admonished the fourth, as he saw the Third Child turn around the Sixty-fifth street's corner and disappear from view. "Damn it, it's really a pity Command didn't give us funds for tailing vehicles. What I wouldn't give for a car to follow him!" he grumbled, quickening his pace to keep eye contact on their protégé.

The three others silently agreed. Little did they know that such a measure would have saved their life had it been granted.

-

The Soultaker was by many means a phantom, a ghost.

The art of concealment in which he was very versed was just an facet of his art to disappear in the surroundings. There were other ways to not attract attention, like blending in a crowd and so on. His physical appearance was extremely simple and banal, as most by-passers would just take a glance at him then forget they did so as nothing unusual or unique kept their attention on him. He looked like most Japanese men and had no difficulty going by unnoticed as his looks were not worthy of further analysis. The perfect cover.

Yet there were other things he was specialized in. Most notably the ability to lure his targets into a trap or walk around innocently until he reached a weapons cache.

He had gone on the streets early in the morning, taking some time to examine his surroundings, write down his own plan and walk up to his ambush point, where a silencer-equipped Barrett M468 automatic rifle was waiting for him, hidden behind a garbage container. He quickly found the weapon and snatched it up from its cache, then slapped a thirty-round magazine in the well then jacked the loading handle back, entering a 6.8mm Remington Special Purpose Cartridge (SPC) round in the chamber. That new type of ammunition far surpassed the old NATO 5.56x45mm or the Soviet-era 7.62x39mm and was quite appreciated these last years, especially when Remington finally developed the 6.8x43mm SPC-CL, the caseless variant of the original round, with less weight and greater efficiency. Another plus was that no casing were ejected from the barrel and thus left no trace of a shooting onsite. Only a very professional forensics team would be able to find out the exact position where the shooter had stood, and that wouldn't be after a few hours of search, if not a couple of days. And in the meantime, he would have struck again.

He removed the safety catch, clicked on the fire selector on full-auto and waited for the four agents assigned to guard the Third Child to appear. Their charge was out of their sight right now and was already another street, but that would be the last of their worries right now. His dropped to a kneeling position and slammed his right elbow on his knee as a way to support his rifle's weight and stabilize his aim. His eye locked on the bull's-eye on the EoTech EOD holographic sight system, bringing his M468 to aim on the corner of the street. The M468 was a development of the American Colt M4, with a 6.8mm SPC caliber instead of the old 5.56mm (.223 Remington) - hence the M468 code number - and sported a 'skeleton handguard', which meant that a Rail Interface System built around it provided the shooter with the ability to strap on quick attach/detach equipments. He had added a fore grip and an infrared pointer for respectively better handling and night operations, as his job expected him to be ready at all times. He would have preferred to have a brand new HK M8 but he would have to use the less lethal 5.56mm. The 6.8mm SPC was not the U.S. standard issue assault rifle round and Heckler und Koch didn't bother to convert some of its M8 baseline models into a 6.8mm-caliber variant. Ah, life wasn't perfect. Too bad, we'll have to do with it, whether we like it or not.

He waited for the four individuals to come out then closed his finger around the trigger. A hail of bullets came from the barrel, in controlled three-round bursts, as he didn't want to spend his ammunition unnecessarily on already dead targets. One by one, the agents fell down on the pavement, their chests riddled with small pieces of metal. Nobody ever heard the _thug-thug-thug_ from his weapon and fewer noticed the agents dropping down in little fountains of blood.

The Soultaker allowed himself to smile grimly then ran down the street to find a small alley, at the end of which was a small trap that lead down to the city's complex sewer network. His hand went to his neck and activated a small pear-shaped object that was an electronic jammer that could disable surveillance cameras by emitting an interfering electromagnetic wave. He climbed down the ladder then eyed his surroundings. Nobody. Perfect. He found three meters away from him a waterproof bag prepared specifically for this mission, and dropped his M468 inside with one or two loose bricks to add weight, before bringing the zipper back up, effectively sealing the container shut. He attached a rope to the bag's sling and went over to the small, smelly, foul-looking and murky stream, looking around before finding a piece of metal over the edge of the 'catwalk'. He put the end of the cable around it and made a sailor's knot with the loops; he turned back to the bag, which he took in his arms then simply dropped in the polluted water. The rope prevented it from being carried away and allowed him to retrieve it later should the need arise. He noted with satisfaction that his device had worked well and everything was going according to his own plan. _Ikari the Weenie would have a nasty fit, today_, he mused. _Two shootings in less than three hours. He's going to burst a vein. Goooooooood morning, Gendooo!_

_Yeah, good _mourning_, too!_

Without even as much as blinking to his own pun, he started back to the ladder and emerged from the trap before heading back downtown, stopping in the process to enter a phone booth to send a short, coded message to his superiors signaling them of his recent attacks. He then strolled back to another park until he met a certain bench, where he sat for a moment. His hand went under the wooden plank and slapped a small letter covered with a sticker band under the seat, so that nobody would notice him and another agent would retrieve the encrypted situation report later and forward it to his own bosses. These next days, he'd be playing it _Gunfight at Tokyo Corral_, no matter how lame it sounded. The message would get through.

Today was a long day and it had well begun.

Tomorrow would be another day.

But the Soultaker would still make himself known to the world around him, no matter what.

He made it a rule to himself and he would abide by it, flawlessly.

_Soultaker one day, Soultaker always._

-

Every ten minutes Section Two agents on assignment had to report on the airwaves and confirm the fact that they were still alive. When a patrol or an operative failed to respond to the enquiry, an alarm would go off in the S2 lounge and command center, set right above Central Dogma and in consequence a Code 352 order would be sent out to any Section Two 'goons' patrolling or working nearby the missing asset's location. When the security detail assigned to keep an eye on the Third Child didn't make its usual check call, a pre-warning was sent to the Transmissions supervisor just in case, just as technicians and shift coordinators sent a radio message to get the missing individuals to respond. Six minutes after, a Code 344 order was issued to the whole institution.

The attempt on Gendo Ikari's life that morning had set the defense situation to an already high level and the amount of guards inside the Geofront had been doubled as a measure to prevent any attempt of infiltration. The security strategists knew that an all-out attack was unlikely to happen, as the 'missed' shot that morning had been done by 'conventional' means and not by use of any high-tech equipment, which might suggest a higher level of danger. The analysts in the Threat Management Division, for the moment, deemed that it was just the job of an isolated, solo-playing killer, probably trained with military equipment but there were no proof of any governmental participation in the case. The S2 officers had the strange idea that if the assassin were a soldier employed by the Japanese Strategic Self-Defense Force or any army from this world, he would then have used a better weapon than a .50-caliber rifle. An antitank missile, for example. But the most seasoned ones thought differently, taking a hunch from their own experience in the U.N. Quick Reaction Force.

Two minutes later, eight sedans sped from one of the subterranean complex' entrances, with screaming sirens and loaded with Section Agents, equipped with heavy weaponry. As all operatives had a GPS beacon woven in their clothes' seams, it was rather easy to locate the missing detail. In less than six hundred seconds, they had found the four corpses, around which a small crowd of by-passers and some police officers had gathered. After a quick word with the senior officer onsite, the S2 goons evacuated the whole city block and roped it off, while waiting for an ambulance to fetch the bodies and send them off towards the Geofront. A quick conversation on an encrypted radio network appraised the Threat Management Division of the new development. The colonel on duty at that moment couldn't then but sigh at the piece of information and decree a second-level alert condition, which meant that all highly placed, high-ranking officersand critical individuals working for NERV had to be relocated to Central Dogma for their own protection. A couple calls were made, stirring up from its apathy a machine that had fallen asleep years ago.

Two S2 cars, in the meantime, were trying to find the Eva pilot, who had wandered away and couldn't be found in the crime scene's vicinity. As the Children didn't have GPS systems on them, the task was much more complicated. An irate Misato Katsuragi could actually be heard screaming incentives and other swearwords over the radio, telling them 'to move their asses or face her gun', indeed inciting them to double their efforts. Dealing wit a near-hysterical, gun-toting woman was not an option for them. The talk they would have with Gendo Ikari would be no less promising. Their BMW sped down lanes in utter urgency, continuing the hunt.

Little did they know, as they looked around desperately for a brown-haired teenager, that the object of their search was already in front of his apartment building.

Back home.

-

"I'm home, Misato!"

Shinji Ikari threw his jacket on a chair and dropped on the living room's couch, just before his purple-haired guardian came out of her room at a dead run, startling him. "SHINJI! Where have you been?" she half-screamed, nearly flinging herself at him. Her eyes were wide and he could see a flicker of panic whirl inside them. "Hey, Misato...! Wha-what's going on?" he stuttered, not knowing if he had done something wrong that might have put her in that state. "Are you okay? Are you alright? Why weren't you answering your cell phone?"

Shinji blinked then slipped his hand inside his pocket, searching for the said item. He took it out and examined the screen before smiling back rather sheepishly. "Oh...sorry. Battery's flat. Didn't notice it...sorry..." Misato looked relieved. "My God, I'd thought you were hurt or something like that or that...run down by a car...fallen in a lake..." She went on ranting wildly around, her words not once making sense to the bewildered teenager that was Shinji Ikari. "With all that's been happening...can't believe it...not answering..." He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment and shame, as he waited for the tempest that was Misato to calm down.

"So the idiot's back! Where have you been, you pervert?"

The still clueless Shinji found himself at a loss in front of his roommates' behavior. His self-depreciating mind automatically kicked in action, making him figure that he must have, once again, done something to upset the two walking bombs. His face instantly paled and he found himself cowering from the two women, as if fearing an eventual beating from their part. "I'm sorry...what did I do?" he stammered, sinking deeper in the couch, trying to get away from harm.

The German teenager, upon hearing the Third Child's three first words, immediately reddened with rage and infuriation. The explosion that ensued was not one that could have been foreseen even centuries ago. "STOP SAYING YOU'RE SORRY YOU DIM-WITTED IMBECILE!" Of course, the loudly spoken - or rather screamed - outburst did nothing to set things better, as the male pilot continued to retreat from the two women. However, the only good thing it did was to jolt a certain purple-haired major from her ramblings and reacquaint her with reality. The scene in front of her immediately told her that as their caretaker, she had to do something to defuse the situation before the whole apartment blew apart. Asuka's volatility had now become a legend in NERV and very few would actually dare try to cross the fiery redhead without being wheeled straight to the emergency room with their privates shoved down their throats and having their vitals turned upside down. Without anesthesia.

"Calm down, Asuka. No...CALM DOWN, SECOND CHILD!"

Asuka shut up, noticing the edge in her guardian's words and deeming unsafe to pursue the matter and decided to just grind her teeth in frustration, the sound audible to the two other persons near her and conveying the message with perfect clarity. Even though Eva Unit 02's pilot answered to nearly no rules, she actually had to bow before Misato's will as the usually jovial director of operations often had hidden trump cards inside her sleeves when it came to controlling loose factors and excited individuals. Asuka was one of those.

"Now, Shinji..." she sighed, turning towards the third occupant of the apartment, who had remained silent, frozen in place. "...are you okay? Did something happen to you?" she asked, bending over to check his body out. The Third Child, accustomed to her teasing about manliness and male anatomy, instantly cringed away, fearing the worst. _The day couldn't begin any better_, he thought. _Two near-hysterical women on my arms. Must be that time of the month. Yeah, that's it. That time of the month. _"...N...No, Misato...why...? Did...something happen?" he sputtered. Fear momentarily took root in his mind as he thought of an Angel attack but soon left as the Third Child realized that it was something else.

"Yes" answered Misato, walking away from him as soon as she decided that nothing was wrong with him. She then began to pace around, as if trying to vent off her worry and pent-up stress. "But Section Two isn't."

"What?" asked the still clueless teenager.

Asuka kept silent, knowing that Misato wouldn't tolerate an interruption from her part. The tone in her voice was a dead giveaway of her seriousness. Now was not the time to play around or to start joking about pleasant matters. Her eyes held a glimmer of coldness within their irises, a clear sign of her 'no-bullshit' mode that usually appeared when Angels attacked and she had to take control of the counterattacks. "We'll be relocated for a moment in the Geofront - until the danger is over. Our threat board is heavily loaded right now" she stated, making sure not to stay in front of the windows from where a seasoned sniper could take her out. "Section Two will provide an escort for us. We're just waiting for additional operatives to extract us from here - this place's no longer safe. For the moment. We've got to stay here until the cars arrive to pick us up. Nobody goes out - we stay close to each other."

Shinji still had no idea as to what was happening - causing him to cry out "But...what's happening, Misato?"

The major whirled around, looking him straight in the eye. The hard gaze made the boy shiver, as she finally answered his question.

"We've got an assassin loose in Tokyo-03."

She looked back at the front sliding door, as if waiting for the killer to burst in at that moment, machine guns in each hands and firing away like mad. Shinji then noticed that the major's hand was constantly near her jacket or more exactly where her shoulder holster should be. Her trusty Heckler und Koch USP-45 was, needless to say, loaded and its hammer cocked, ready for instant action.

"And it seems that he's coming for us."

-

"WHAT?"

_Hell hath no fury like the rage of a maddened Supreme Commander_, weakly thought the cringing Section Two agent as he witnessed Gendo Ikari's answer to his report. Tales flew freely inside the Geofront as to how cruel NERV's head could get. Stories about prisoners being interrogated before the bearded, bespectacled individual without incited a single sign of humanity from him were as countless as the stars in the sky and had nearly become legends, as testimonies to his coldness and lack of mercy. Knowing what Gendo Ikari could do to anyone who scorned or angered him didn't made his subordinates grow any more fond of him - it merely scared them more, even the most seasoned veterans of S2, some of which had fought in the Second Impact wars.

"HE DID WHAT?"

Of course, Fuyutsuki kept true to himself, standing behind his superior with calm - even though it was quite surprising to the eventual onlooker to see that the Supreme Commander had snapped before the Vice Commander, which held more feelings and scruples inside himself than his erstwhile student. But of course, that was without knowing that earlier that morning, Gendo Ikari had nearly been killed, the 'nearly' being much to the unspoken disappointment and awe of the NERV employees who were shocked that someone would actually _dare_ threaten that blatantly the Devil of the Geofront, as many people called him.

"We...we found the corpses...the...the Third Child, however...came back safe...without a single wound. He...he didn't even know his protection detail had been taken out...he just kept on walking and...came back to Major Katsuragi's apartment un-unscathed. They're waiting for extraction right now - they'll be relocated to a safe, guarded part of the Geofront until the Threat Management Division gives us the green light" the poor man stuttered, clearly wanting to get out of the office and hide away. Primal instincts about self-preservation always arose in times of need and danger and this moment was no exception to that particular rule. Gendo Ikari remained silent...then his usually stony features crumbled into a horrid scowl that turned into a fearsome grimace, the face's traits distorted by sheer rage. _An eerie sight_, thought Fuyutsuki, looking at his subordinate with worry. Nobody knew what Ikari could do when angered and even less wanted to see it either. _SEELE's really getting under his skin._

With a brutal sweep of his hand, Gendo Ikari his paraphernalia away from his table - pens and sheets of paper falling unceremoniously on the floor with loud clatters. A bottle of ink smashed loudly, the pitch-black fluid spreading across the tile like an incoming tide, swallowing everything in its path. The agent fearfully took a step back, nearly bolting for the door. The snarl of the Supreme Commander that followed, however, kept him in place, knowing that it wasn't a good idea to leave without his superior's leave. "GET OUT! OUT!" he nearly roared, pointing towards the door in a sudden gesture, shaking with rage.

Needless to say, he didn't wait for the Devil to repeat himself.

With a loud _clang_, the metallic table shook as Ikari gave it a kick, trying to evacuate the furor inside him. Even the most cold-blooded beings in this world lost their cool when their semblance of control slipped out of their hands. For Gendo Ikari, there was much to loose and that eventuality was _not _something he could afford. Not with what was at stake. Years of work. A decennia of wait. For a reunion deeply longed for. Pure, silent, invisible suffering. And hisvery salvation was being threatened by old dotards who only cared about their own skin and the intricacies of cabbalism. "How dare they..."

"You do realize, Ikari...that it is a provocation solely meant for you?" boldly asked Fuyutsuki, not knowing where he could find courage in such a dire moment. Years of working with the old street fighter now become a U.N. officer had hardened him, giving him his own mask to hide behind and intimidate those behind him. A mask of power. One that did not wilt even under fire. In his darkest moments, he could understand why Ikari favored that blank, calculating look of his. It was his own shield, against his inner and outer demons. A shelter.

When the black-haired man looked back at him, the words 'no shit!' could nearly be seen written all over his features. For a scant second, the old graying professor thought that his former student was going to hit him but years of hardcore self-control from Ikari's part prevented such an event to occur. The Supreme Commander needed Fuyutsuki and both men knew it. Losing an asset like the former professor was out of question, especially now. "SEELE is overstepping its bounds," he snarled in a low voice, trying to find back his cold blood.

"The message is clear, however."

Gendo Ikari paced away, moving around his desk in furious circles. He didn't need to confirm that statement as anybody could see the truth in it. "The old fools want to play their damned games - then so be it! But I will not allow them to interfere with my plans!" he growled, as if challenging an invisible adversary to retort or prove him wrong. _It is surprising how his nickname now becomes him. The Beast_, silently mused Fuyutsuki. _No, I forgot - it was the Bastard, not the Beast. But it still does apply to him._

"But you surely realize that staging a rebellion against them will do no good, don't you?" Fuyutsuki sighed, dreading moments of pain in the future. If SEELE was going on an all-out war, the implications of such a gesture would be catastrophic for _all _human beings. _As if the Angels weren't enough..._

"We'll see, Fuyutsuki, we'll see" answered Gendo Ikari, turning towards the darkened windows to gaze at the forests inside the Geofront. _How deceptive can peace look_, he thought._ War and death always lie underneath. And all it takes to uncover it is to say one word, to push one button or to make one step._

"The game is afoot. Let it begin" he spoke to the pane of glass.

Nobody answered the declaration but the heaviness of the surrounding atmosphere was enough of an answer.

-

"Is it done?" asked the voice, heavy with years of waiting and planning in the dark.

"The Soultaker's report has just confirmed it. Our agents in NERV all concur on the effects of the operation! A complete success!" answered another, satisfaction seeping from his words. Delight was another word to qualify the talker's mood.

"The double attack not only did serve its primary purpose - to provoke Ikari - but it also fulfilled the secondary goal - the one about the Third Child."

"Indeed!" boomed again the voice of SEELE-06, like thunder in a world of silence. The darkened room that served as a meeting place for the members of the secret, Illuminati-like organization didn't materially exist but was just the creation of a highly complex discussion forum generated by computers. The system did not only preserve the identity of the participants but provided also security - as it encoded the transmissions at an extremely high degree of refinement and prevented SEELE's members to gather in person in a single room and actually increase the risks of 'terrorist' attacks on them. As long as they were spread around the world, their safety was ensured. But if they were close to each other, an efficient mercenary would have but little difficulty to take them down one by one. If they were all in the same building, then a simple bomb would do. No need to enter inside and gun the old men down. Some risks were unnecessary, whatever the results the operation could give. "The detail was...neutralized. Our own agents are now able to fill in the vacant posts and closely monitor the Chosen Progeny as well as keep precise tabs on high-level officers."

"Then a success it is" quietly agreed SEELE-04. "Now, can we go on with business?"

"Yes - let us tarry not over simple matters, greater things are at hand and need careful planning, immediately. The Soultaker has sent the message to Ikari" stated Lorenz Keele, the blue monolith radiating a feeling of power and knowledge with each word. "He will make his move soon."

"My informants have told me Ikari is gathering some close supporters around him to garner more funds for his designs. As to what I have gathered, it seems that those amounts of money are destined to...extracurricular activities" reported SEELE-07 - the one usually assigned with looking for new intelligence sources and managing the information networks.

"That fool! He thinks he can deviate from our scenario and write one of his own!" scoffed SEELE-11, disdain piercing through the digital chamber. NERV's Supreme Commander was slowly severing his ties with his old masters and his name was now spoken with loathing in SEELE's discussion rooms. The rift between the two antagonists was building greater and signs of hostilities were now common occurrence. Ikari wanted to be reunited with his wife and didn't care about the group's wrath when it came to stealing the Evas from them. Ascension, on another hand, was a task to whichboth of them were looking forward to and an unspoken agreement bound the now estranged and former co-workers. They would fight together against the Angels, but when it comes to control and writing of History, no mercy would be allowed between the two parties. A remake of the Cold War, as some would put it.

"All must pay the price for trying to steal Ascension from us" cut in Keele with determination. "Ikari shall be no exception and his end will come to the Soultaker's hands before the final ceremony will take place."

"So be it! But what of the supporters?" asked SEELE-10, the unofficial director of operations and commander of the military assets.

Keele remained silent for a moment before answering, as if pondering deeply his next move, like a player behind his chessboard.

"We'll just have to inform the Soultaker of that development. He'll do the rest."

The implications didn't need to be explained.

Everybody in the room knew what it meant to leave matters to the Soultaker.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_

**

* * *

**

**A/N:**

**01°)** The Barrett XM107 is an actual weapon that is indeed a development of the M82A1M heavy caliber rifle, which is more used for its enormous firepower than its precision, without of course, forgetting the long range shot capabilities it packs. Using a double-spring recoil system that is completed with a slightly recoiling barrel during the shot, the Barrett XM107 is so powerful that it can rip a man in two at less than five hundred yards with enough stopping power to pierce an armored vehicle's flank and demolish its engine. Not only used as an antipersonnel weapon, the XM107 comes in handy when it comes to destroying materiel, a bivalence that is greatly appreciated by marksmen and snipers, like in Panama where Delta Force teams disabled electrical generators by putting anti-armor rounds in them. The XM107 is 57 inches long (1,448mm) and weighs 32 pounds (11.9kg) without magazine. Its heavy barrel is 29 inches long (737mm) and sports a 1-in-15 inches rifling twist (1-in-381mm) specially designed for the .50 caliber round,which was directly developed from the Browning Machine Gun model (BMG) - hence the name .50 BMG. The ammunition, which originally was used in heavy machine guns (Browning / Saco Defense M2HB), has a 12.7x99mm casing, which explains why it is so powerful - up to the point that an enormous muzzle break and a sturdy, adjustable and detachable bipod are needed to reduce the muzzle blast and the consequent 'mule kick'. The XM107 holds ten of these rounds in its magazine, even though specialists usually put in eight only to avoid jamming. The rifle is semi-automatic and uses either a Unertl or Leupold Vari-X telescope, both of which can be switched (if the shooter doesn't want to use the folding, in-built, backup iron sights for short range) thanks to the presence of a Piccatinny-Weaver Mil-Std 1913 rail interface system (RIS) top of the receiver. The RIS allows the emplacement of targeting/sighting equipment and interchangeability. The Barrett XM107 is used by the U.S. Marine Corps and is also available in a close quarters (CQ) model, which features a nine inches-shorter barrel and the ability to use night vision or infrared illuminators/pointers. All Barrett rifles are manufactured in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, United States.

**02°)** The Barrett M468 is one of the newest rifle made by that company - who, surprisingly, has built its fame by only building heavy-caliber precision/anti-materiel rifles like the M82, M95, M99, XM107 and the recent 25mm-caliber XM109. As most American rifle manufacturers do nowadays, the M468 was based on the M16 weapon family, created first by Armalite Division of Fairchild Engine And Aircraft Industries, refined and widened by Colt Manufacturing, and more exactly on the M4 carbine, the current standard-issue weapon of the U.S. Special Forces. The M468, however, is differentiated from its 'father' by its caliber, the 6.8mm SPC developed by Remington (hence the M468 code number: 'M4' plus '6.8mm' equals'M468'). As of today, no other rifle, machine gun or carbine uses the brand new 6.8x43mm ammunition, designed to make an alternative to the 5.56x45mm (powerful but too light and not enough stopping power) and the 7.62x51mm (too heavy, and creates a too powerful recoil when fired in full automatic mode), except for two variants of the prototype HK (Heckler und Koch) XM8 Light Modular Assault Rifle, the Light Machine Gun variant and the Sharpshooter Variant but those two models are still in 5.56mm configuration right now, until the U.S. Army decides whether or not to use the 6.8x43mm as its new round. The M468features a collapsible butt stock to reduce its dimensions and optimize its storage in crammed areas, a 'skeleton' handguard, complete with four Piccatinny-Weaver Mil-Std 1913 rail interface system (RIS) and a flat top, since the M4-style carrying handle (which also serves as a sight deck) has been removed and replaced by an additional RIS to allow the presence of sights, scopes or other targeting devices. The rifle is air-cooled, gas-operated and differs from the M4 by the presence of a new muzzle break, a heavier barrel, a dual spring extractor, a two-stage trigger and a folding front sight, just above a remodeled gas block. The M468 is 35.4 inches long (899mm) with its stock extended (when the stock is collapsed, the overall length is 33.4 inches (823mm)) and sports a 16 inches-long (406mm), 6.8mm-caliber barrel. The M468, weighing 7.3lbs (3.311kg) can accept 5, 10- and 28-round magazines, even though there is an option for 100-round dual drum Beta Co. CMAG magazines, even though the CMAG is known to only accept 5.56x45mm cartridges and not the new 6.8x43mm. The M468 is still in testing, even though some units have been shipped off to the U.S. Marine Corps and the U.S. Army to see whether they apply to those two institutions' requirements. Whether the 6.8x43mm round will be accepted or not, nobody knows, even though rising complaints about the 5.56mm tend to praise the new caliber.


End file.
